


And the Rest, He Left Unsaid

by reidrights



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aphasia, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Gideon is an asshat, Gideon stays so no Rossi, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Amplification, S4 (Attempted) Moreid Rewrite of the Twin Flames Situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27741136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reidrights/pseuds/reidrights
Summary: Following his brush with anthrax, Spencer’s aphasia lasts three months. Derek stays his side—so close that it kicks his crush into overdrive. So does the rest of his team, but Gideon?Gideon’s a different story.
Relationships: Derek Morgan & The BAU Team, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Jason Gideon & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 7
Kudos: 155





	And the Rest, He Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of @derekmorqan’s headcanon on Tumblr (link: https://derekmorqan.tumblr.com/post/635019616561807360/everyday-i-think-about-how-gideon-wouldve). 
> 
> Also decided to rewrite the twin flames thing with Moreid, because why not?

The glare from above and desolate white walls greet him like an old friend. Spencer sits upright, only to find his head scream out in protest. He collapses back down with a groan.

Someone’s there, he makes out from where he lays, but he can’t tell who. It’s bright, so,  _ so _ bright…

“Rest easy, kid,” says a familiar voice, someone he knows so well but can’t pinpoint right now, someone whose honeyed, dulcet tones lull him back to unconsciousness.

The doctor returns some two hours later, nodding at Derek, who steps out so they can talk to Spencer alone.  _ Expressive aphasia _ and  _ brain injury _ wash over his head, each word as numbing than the last, but all he hears is  _ lucky lucky lucky _ . He’s lucky that they administered the cure in time, lucky they got to the hospital fast enough, lucky his aphasia’s transient and he’ll be back to his talkative self in no time.

“Can I see him?” he tries to croak out, but the jumble of sounds that come from his mouth sound hardly like it. Panic arises in his chest. He knows what he meant to say and what aphasia does to a person. His cognition is still at tip-top shape, and yet the reality of the situation is no less frightening. The doctor rests a hand on his shoulder, tells him that  _ it’ll take time _ and asks if he wants Agent Morgan to come in. He nods.

Derek sits by his side, stroking his hand while relaying information.  _ The team was fine. They had caught the unsub. They would visit soon. _

Derek offers him jello from the table adjacent to the bed. Spencer nods.  _ Thank you _ , he wants to add, but no words come out. Tears prick at his eyes; Derek brushes them away. Hands him a spoon, nods in silent communion when Spencer squeezes his hand.

“Spencer,” says Derek. Soft. Tender, like the look he gives him, and Spencer wonders if Derek has always looked at him in that way. “I am so proud of you. You inspire me every day.” Spencer sniffles, taking a tentative bite of the jello. “You saved countless lives with your ingenuity. Don’t underestimate what you’ve done.” And Derek traces a hand along Spencer’s jaw, hoping to communicate  _ just _ how much he means to him. How his breath hitches seeing Spencer so hurt. Vulnerable. But never alone.

Spencer, acutely aware of how un-put together he looks, recoils at his touch. Looks up at Derek, apology in his eyes. But all Derek feels is hurt. Understanding, but hurt.

It’s the wrong type of understanding, Spencer wants to shout. _He didn’t—he didn’t mean_ , but Derek pats his shoulder, announces that the team’s arriving in a few minutes, and he’ll give him some time to rest. 

Spencer doesn’t want Derek to leave. No, he wants him to  _ stay _ , as selfish as it feels. But if Derek keeps being so affectionate, his heart might just whine out from his chest and the doctors’ll check out the anomaly in its beating and ask why it’s going so fast. Then he’ll have to explain, somehow, that the thrumming is from something they cannot cure—lovesickness.

Derek sits in the lobby. Tries to compose himself. It doesn’t mean anything, he wants to believe. Spencer’s just  _ tired _ .  _ Scared _ . But in all their years as friends, Spencer had never once reacted so negatively to his touch. 

The muted uproar of sound, soon hushed by Hotch’s sure glare, pervades his hearing. “Is he okay?” asks Penelope. The rest of the team—Emily, JJ, Hotch—are here too, gazing at him expectedly. Save for Gideon, whose absence they try to ignore. 

Derek nods. “The doctors said he has temporary expressive aphasia. He can understand what you say to him, but he has trouble speaking and writing himself.”

“Can we see him?” asks Emily. 

A pause. Then she gives him a concerned look— _ you okay?  _ she seems to ask in the crease of her brow—and he stands, swinging the door open. Their anticipation flares to worry at the sight of Spencer’s frail figure, tucked tight in the sheets. A carton of half-eaten jello, set on his bedside table. Derek feels the urge to brush aside the curl splayed against Spencer’s forehead, because  _ that’s what friends do, right? _ They notice the way their hair tickles their cheeks and their mouth hangs slightly agape. They clasp their hands until their breathing evens out. And he’s struck with the thought that here, under the industrial sheets in this industrial room, Spencer looks more at peace than he ever has. Yet that peace came at the cost of his fire. Sputtering for life, but burning out nonetheless. 

_ Twin flames _ —Derek recalls with a start. Then he grimaces, tries to brush it off, like he had with other bits and pieces of scripture that came to mind now and then. But something’s different. 

This time, he accepts the thought, lets it trail along his mind and finish its full, fiery train. 

He’s not sure what to make of it. Then again, he’s not sure what to make of this—this inexplicable pull he feels towards Spencer. His  _ best friend _ , but even those two words taste like ash in his mouth. But—

_ No. _

He was in love with him. 

Spencer cracks his eyes open, and Derek  _ knows _ . They’re twin flames. If Spencer says  _ I am defeated  _ and  _ I am lost  _ in his gestures, Derek responds with  _ I’ll light the way for you with what our souls have forged, all these years coming.  _

Spencer hums in delight as Penelope places a Doctor Who plushie on his lap. Emily does the same with a first-edition copy of one of his favorite novels (no one questions where she got it from), and Hotch and JJ with their respective gifts. Leaving Derek, empty-handed and feeling foolish at how he’d wallowed in his thoughts. Instead of…you know, getting him a gift. 

They talk to Spencer and reassure him that  _ it’ll be okay _ , and they’ll be with him every step of the way. Soon enough, they don’t even notice that Gideon never came.

One-by-one, they shuffle out, for duty a-calls. Derek stands to do the same, but Hotch stops him.

“I think it’d be best if he had some company.”

“I know,” says Derek. “But we got a case, and I can’t skip unless Gideon says so.”

At the mention of Gideon, Hotch wears a look of mild consternation. “I’ll talk to him, don't worry. You go keep Reid company.” He shuts the door.

Derek stands for a moment before deciding to approach Spencer. His hands are shoved a mile deep into his pockets and he feels far from suave. “Listen, I’m…”  _ Just say it _ . “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift.” Spencer shrugs.

An idea, a brilliant but risky idea, pops into Derek’s mind. “What if I get you a different gift?” Spencer peers up at him in confusion as Derek inches closer,  _ closer _ …then understands.

“Is this okay?” breathes Derek, heart beating far too fast, the monitor above Spencer indicating the same. 

Spencer nods.

And they’re kissing. Derek can’t fathom it—can’t fathom that it took  _ this _ for his deepest desires to be realized, that it’s really happening. And Spencer can’t fathom how impossibly soft it feels to be kissed by Derek Morgan.

Spencer’s dazed. As is Derek, when they part and rest their foreheads against each other’s. So Spencer counts  _ one two three  _ before melding his lips against Derek’s once more, sure that their kiss  _ had _ to be a dream, but Derek feels  _ oh so very real _ . 

“I love you,” professes Derek. He confesses it that day, and the next. He says it once the hospital discharges him and Spencer goes on medical leave. Derek takes days off, too—not so many that he’d get the side-eye from Strauss, but enough so that he can spend as much time as possible with Spencer. 

The doctor relays that, for reasons unknown, expressive aphasia doesn’t always affect visuospatial communication. There’s hope, and the CT scan confirms that his spatial abilities remain intact. Spencer’s signing up and down in no time.

The trail of warmth Derek ignites with his words runs cold each time he mentions the team. One mention reminds Spencer of work, which reminds him of how _useless_ he feels, which reminds him of Gideon. 

A month passes. The team relays updates on his well-being to the unit chief. Derek still remembers the first few times, when they’d dismissed his indifference. Case after case piled in, and surely, Gideon was just busy. So they slip subtle references as often as they can, in hopes Gideon will catch on. But during paperwork and slow days at the office, Gideon reacts no different.

It’s a muggy day in Tampa when Derek snaps. He’s drawing the geographic profile, trying to piece together how Spencer did it, when he overhears JJ tell Gideon that  _ Spence is recovering. _ He can write now, though his handwriting is messy and it takes him a while to think through his sentences. Derek knows this, and how hard Spencer tries to speak but just can’t. Spencer cries less at night, wrapped up in his arms, but it doesn’t make aphasia any easier on him.

Gideon blinks. “Set up a press conference.” 

“I wanted to let you know—” she presses on, but Gideon interrupts her.

“No time for that. We have important things to do.”

“Well, Spence is part of our  _ team _ —”

“—I don’t care.” An instant hush befalls the room; the others listen in as well. “I need this team to focus on the case.”

Emily fumes; Hotch squares his shoulders. JJ mutters a contemptuous  _ yessir _ and stalks off. Derek’s mind travels at a million miles a minute and the words fly from his mouth before he can temper them.

“Are you serious?” All eyes fall on him.

“Spencer is an invaluable member of our team. He’s the glue that keeps it together with his compassion _and_ expertise. He has _changed_ _our lives_ and the lives of so many we’ve met on cases. He’s saved countless potential victims.” Derek swallows, overcome by emotion. “But he is _so_ much more than his intellect. He is our _friend_. You are his _unit chief._ His _idol_. And all he needs is for you to show up and check in on him, so he doesn’t feel used.”

“Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way.” Every word of Gideon’s response scorches him from the inside out, but a call from Garcia defuses the terse environment. 

He makes sure to visit Spencer more often, just to spite Gideon and make his life harder. Leave it up to the unit chief to explain why one of his agents has been taking an unusual amount of time off.

The team come visit when they can, pleased at how well Spencer adjusts—aphasia or no aphasia. Every time, he grins at Derek and signs, _I couldn’t do it without him_ and they leave the ‘adorable lovebirds’ (Penelope’s words, not his) to spend time alone.

Two months pass. Spencer strings together his first sentence. It’s choppy, halted and croaky, but its broken timbre sounds like music to Derek’s ears. “Der-ek?” says Spencer. “I. Love. You.” And Derek grins, wrapping him in his arms. “I love you, too.”

More and more of Derek’s belongings migrate to Spencer’s, not that either of them complain. Derek helps him fill out his taxes and encourages him to persist. Page after page of notebooks fill with handwriting exercises; his desk, strewn with tissues, but Derek blots away his tears, smiles at him. The kind of smile that doesn’t undo the hurt, but renews hope for a time the hurt will end. 

By the end of his leave, Spencer can rattle off facts about the Broca’s area and how it affects language usage. They’ve spent so much time together that Derek can sign niche literature references from memory. 

The day before he returns to work, Spencer breaks down. Derek intertwines their limbs despite the fact that Spencer would kick him in the middle of the night.

“He never even came to visit,” sobs Spencer. “I know I wasn’t much use to the team, but he never visited  _ once _ . Did he even ask how I was?” He takes Derek’s silence as his answer, tears falling without end. And Derek becomes a hearth, warming up the places his lover feels cold. Tells him that he is not ash, but  _ embers _ , and he, Derek, would rekindle Spencer’s fire. 

They’re hand in hand to Spencer’s last follow-up, where the doctor confirms that  _ Agent Reid’s all set to go! _ . They’re hand in hand as they walk into the bullpen, steely-eyed and set on not letting their concerns go unsaid.

A letter awaits Spencer, hastily scrawled and left on his desk. It’s Gideon. 

_ Goodbye. I’m sorry. _ The words churn in Spencer’s head, nausea clawing at his throat. Any hostility he felt toward Gideon dissipates at the reality that he’s now  _ alone _ . Left with nothing but a letter, as his father had done. Derek doesn’t even have to read it for the familiar coil of sadness to wind in his stomach. But Spencer doesn’t need Derek to be sad on behalf of him. He needs his  _ love _ .

Spencer’s shoulders contract, head lowered to hide the tears with his hair. Derek wraps his arms around his lover’s midsection. Though he says hurt and vulnerability with every shaky exhale, in every inhale, Derek tells him that  _ he is not alone _ .

_ “I love you, Spencer,”  _ he says. “There is nothing you should feel ashamed for. Not aphasia, not what Gideon chose to do.”

_ “I know.” _

Yet—yet Spencer’s  _ livid.  _ Rage simmers at the pit of his stomach, so great he can’t fathom why there’s so much of it. Till he realizes that this isn’t just about Gideon. This was about how his need for acceptance and others’ self-serving motives ate him up until all he sees is red. Then his anger dies out and he’s blue.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Derek plants a hand on his shoulder. The gesture grounds him enough to realize the wooden desk is digging into his elbows and his body’s contorted in an uncomfortable, but _safe_ position. Yet he unfolds himself, for Derek shows him there was no danger to begin with. 

“You can’t bottle things up like that,” says Derek. “Talk to me, love.”

“I know,” he answers. “And I will.”

”Can you,” he says, hesitant, unsure how to grasp at the words he’s feared yet longed to say for so long. “Can you hold me?”

And the rest, he left unsaid.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is all over the place ;( oh well


End file.
